


(Not) Giving In

by harleyyquinn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Makes Things Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3394802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleyyquinn/pseuds/harleyyquinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek let out a sigh as he rounded the front of the house. He thought that if he were a naturally more expressive man he might have laughed, or maybe cried, because parked in his overgrown driveway was a very familiar blue jeep, and lying on top of its hood was a very familiar sprawled out figure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not) Giving In

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just a writing warm-up, and then, 5000 words later...
> 
> I took some liberties with the timeline and the arrangement of Derek's apartment, but I figure they aren't too devastating.

_Waste my time which makes things worse,_  
 _Lost in mine, my love is cursed._  
 _Mm, time to make these things feel right,_  
 _Mmm, let's start this show for one last time._  
  
Derek ran through the preserve, heedlessly clipping branches as he went, feeling them snag and tear at his clothes. He ran, and refused to let the wolf take over. He didn’t want the help. He didn’t want the burn in his lungs to ease, or to have surer footing across the hills and slopes. He wanted to push his limits as far as they’d go before breaking. The night was warm and the summer air felt heavy as he cut through it. He could feel prickling along the back of his neck from the moonlight filtering through the trees, like it was calling out to his skin, begging him to play along. His plainly human features was all the answer he had for the moon - for his instincts - and that answer was kindly saying _fuck off_.  
  
As the tree line came into view, Derek finally began to slow down to a walk. He knew that he had been running, albeit in a round about haphazard kind of way, to his old, dilapidated home. The loft apartment was home now, had been for a few years but still, he knew without having to think about it that he’d end up there. Cicadas buzzed loudly in the night air, only accompanied by the sound of his own heavy breathing. The house loomed in his periphery, as broken and burnt as the last time he had saw it. He didn’t bother assessing the wreck; effortlessly ignoring the memories of being chased by his ruthless giggling sisters through the kitchen out through the now broken down doors into the back garden he waded through. He had come to terms a long time ago now that those memories didn’t really belong to him anymore. Those memories belonged to the Derek that had lived and consequently died there with the rest of his family that night of the fire.  
  
Derek let out a sigh as he rounded the front of the house. He thought that if he were a naturally more expressive man he might have laughed, or maybe cried, because parked in his overgrown driveway was a very familiar blue jeep, and lying on top of its hood was a very familiar sprawled out figure. Derek shoved his hands in his pockets as he got closer, wondering how in the world Stiles could actually have fallen asleep there of all places. Stiles was using one arm as a pillow behind his head as he lightly snored. Derek considered how easily Stiles was sleeping despite having been all alone, out in the woods, after midnight, in front of a very tragic crime scene of a house. Then again, it was just another Thursday night for them. Derek reached out and shook one of Stiles’ ratty converse, really trying not to enjoy shocking him awake as he flailed to sit upright.  
  
“The fuck Derek? Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt a man’s beauty rest?”  
  
“Hm, you must get interrupted pretty often then,” Derek half-heartedly insulted.  
  
“Har har,” Stiles gently kicked out at the hand still holding on to his sneaker. “What took you so long?”  
  
Derek’s eyebrow raised artfully, “What took me so long? Did we have plans that I so easily forgot about?”  
  
“No, you dick. I just didn’t think you’d run that far,” he shrugged nonchalantly. As if it were totally normal for him to fall asleep while waiting for Derek to end up in such a predictable place in the middle of the night.  
  
Derek let go of Stiles’ sneaker, returning his hands to his pockets. “Just one of those nights.”  
  
“Yeah, but you’ve been having those nights pretty frequently lately.” Stiles frowned down at his laces, as if hoping Derek wouldn’t call him out for keeping track.  
  
Derek had in fact been having those nights more often lately. It was late into June, and the heat had been crawling under his skin, creating an itch that he couldn’t seem to scratch no matter how hard he pushed himself. Sometimes he’d deny his own inner wolf just to prove he was the one still in control. A silence settled between them, Derek not feeling in a particularly sharing mood to explain this, and Stiles trying his best not to push. But they both knew his best wouldn’t last very long, so Derek decided to go first. “How’d you know to wait for me out here? And why did you do so alone? You know better than most what comes out after dark.”  
  
Stiles gave Derek one of his very practiced _are you serious?_ faces. “I knew because you’re you mostly. And a little bit because of my awesome deduction skills. With you being-,” he gestured up and down at Derek, “so you, and the extra brooding and restless vibes you’ve had for the past week. I just kind of figured you’d end up here. And since I knew you were out there, I wasn’t really alone was I?”  
  
An unease pricked at Derek. It came from that newly familiar sensation he felt around the pack members, especially around Stiles, it smelled like _trust_ , and more often than not that still scared Derek. Derek knew reprimanding Stiles was pointless, so he just nodded, turning his back to lean against the hood beside Stiles’ swinging legs. “I don’t brood,” he added as an afterthought, unironically said whilst staring into the trees.  
  
Stiles let out a laugh, the warm kind Derek had begun to begrudgingly grow fond of. “Are you trying to be funny right now? It can be hard to tell lately with your newfound sense of humour. Because you Derek Hale, are without a doubt the walking definition of Tall, Dark, and Grumpy.”  
  
“Grumpy is so not on par with brooding,” Derek said, as he not-so gently elbowed Stiles in the thigh.  
  
Stiles shrugged, “I was trying to be nice.”  
  
“Try harder next time.”  
  
“If it makes you feel any better,” Stiles patted Derek’s shoulder consolingly, “Grumpy was always my favourite dwarf.”  
  
Stiles gave an indignant yell as his ass hit the dirt, courtesy of Derek.  
  
-  
  
Derek could admit to himself, if not aloud, that sitting in the passenger seat of Stiles’ jeep with the windows rolled down, Stiles’ beat up iPod playing Weezer’s _The Red Album_ on low, and the clock reading 1:38am, that he almost felt _relieved_. As if him running through the preserve had been able to shed some of the weight that had been pushing down on his chest lately. And having Stiles there waiting and ready to pick him back up again was something he hadn’t realized he might of needed until he took hold of Stiles’ converse. He was never really sure what triggered these moods in the first place, some sort of combination of his fears and insecurities manifesting into something resembling a boulder resting in the middle of his solar plexus. He wanted to just blame the summer air, or maybe because it was the summer break and the rest of the pack had finally returned to town for their breaks from college. Maybe it was some sort of combination that he didn’t want to really look at too closely.  
  
The apartment came into view and he tried to snap out of it. Stiles had a bad habit of sensing Derek’s moments of weakness and being able to press all of the right keys until Derek couldn’t help but let these kinds of thoughts spill out. Derek knew Stiles already had more ammunition against him than he’d ever willingly let anybody else hold on to. So he swallowed the dangerous confessions waiting on his tongue, and tried to forget all about it as Stiles parked the jeep in the usual visitor’s parking spot. Stiles got out and headed towards the building without waiting for Derek, he knew he’d follow without complaint.  
  
Derek shook his head as he followed Stiles through the doors and up the flights of stairs. Stiles only pausing while he waited for Derek to unlock his loft’s door, ignoring the accompanied rolling eyes, and then carrying on into the apartment. Stiles was however considerate enough to toe off his shoes before inviting himself into the kitchen for a drink. He looked aimlessly in the fridge, probably looking for beer as he got into the routine of stealing them from Derek with the argument that he was 19 now, and if that was good enough for Canadians than it was good enough for him. Derek stopped trying to argue with him after considering all of the life and death situations they’d been through, and realizing Stiles and so much of the pack even making it to 19 has been something of a miracle. And surely being old enough to die for a noble cause or two should mean old enough to steal the occasional beer, even if Stiles usually went for his favourites.  
  
Instead, Stiles pulled out the Brita filter Isaac had demanded Derek provide. While Stiles poured himself a glass, Derek let out a quiet “Thanks.” Stiles didn’t say anything in answer while filling the filter up with more water before replacing it in the fridge, he was the only one who remembered to do that. “For the ride, I mean.”  
  
Derek wasn’t sure why he felt it necessary to clarify. Maybe because he didn’t want Stiles to point out what it could mean that he was waiting for him, and that he knew exactly where to find him, and that those sort of gestures of kindness still unsettled Derek even after years of building up the bonds and relationships between their pack members.  
  
“Any time,” Stiles responded just as quietly, letting the implied meaning hang between them.  
  
Derek stared obstinately at the fridge door handle, before reluctantly meeting Stiles’ earnest eyes. Stiles’ gaze was unwavering, never shying away from Derek these days. It was the closest thing to college kid swagger Stiles had come home with, _confidence_.  
  
Derek hadn’t been able to see as much of the pack as he’d have liked over the school year, but with Stiles only at Berkeley, and Scott staying in town to work with Deaton, he’d been able to see them the most often. While under Deaton’s tutelage Scott had been flourishing in mastering who he is as a True Alpha, and simultaneously using his compassion towards caring for animals like he was seemingly always meant to be doing. But Stiles had been away studying, and _maturing_ , in almost every sense of the word (he was still a pain in the ass Derek was relieved to know). Every weekend he was able to make it home, for every holiday he came back for, Derek could actually see the growth in Stiles. He often wished he could mark it on the closet door with a pencil and ruler like you could for a kid’s growth spurt, just so he could point to it and show Stiles there was tangible proof that he was no longer that scared teenager he had been when he first met him.  
  
Derek could see Stiles rising to the challenges of his school work, determined to kick its ass so he could return home to work for his dad. And he only knew that with such certainty because Stiles chose to call and text Derek at all hours of the night, and consequently tell him these sorts of things. Derek knew Stiles missed the pack, and had never been so far away from Scott before. But even though Stiles was at school with Lydia, it was still Derek he’d turn to every time he needed something. Sometimes he’d ask for help with assignments (and every time Derek tried to insist this was where Lydia would really shine instead), sometimes he felt the need to share his inane dreams he had just woken up from before he forgot them, but other times it was to simply confide in Derek. Because no matter how hard Derek tried to deny it, regardless of empty threat after empty threat, he wouldn’t hang up on him, he wouldn’t ignore Stiles’ texts even at 3:30am, because he found he started to actually want to know. And besides, he had always found it hard to say no to Stiles.    
  
Along with his newfound maturity, Stiles seemed to have gained an even keener sense of perception. When Stiles would look at him like he was now, Derek was often torn between desperately adding more armour to hide behind, and stripping it all away so Stiles could judge him fairly. He ran a hand through the back of his hair and realized he still wasn’t sure which he wanted to do more.  
  
Stiles' eyes followed the movement of Derek’s arm, finally looking away, seeming to realize he had been staring. Derek considered calling him on it, considered discussing some of the thoughts lingering between them. But instead he clamped down another sigh before letting out, “I’m gonna shower. So, I’ll see you later?”  
  
Stiles nodded but didn’t go anywhere, just stayed where he was spinning his half-full glass in his hands. Derek nodded back and left him leaning against his counter to head for the shower. He knew Stiles could let himself out as easily as he continuously let himself in. As Derek stepped into the scalding water, he tried to remember that fleeting sense of freedom he had felt in the car, tried to hold on to the word he so precariously attached to the feeling. He wasn’t ready to let go of it yet.  
  
-  
  
Derek came out of the bathroom flush and damp, towelling off his wet hair before he noticed the lump under his comforter, and that the pj pants he had laid on the bed for himself were not so mysteriously missing. When satisfied with his hair, Derek draped the blue and white striped towel over the rail by the spiral staircase, eyeing Stiles’ crumpled jeans and shoes piled by the bottom step. Without a questioning word, Derek slid under the covers in only his boxer briefs, lying on his side facing Stiles’ t-shirt clad back. He knew Stiles was still awake. But he took comfort in the steady breathing, and even allowed a moment of private pride for the slight rise of Stiles’ pulse, but neither of them moved.  
  
This wasn’t the first time this summer he had found Stiles in his bed, often in stolen clothes belonging to Derek, and already asleep and dead to the world. He never really explains to Derek why this is where he ends up, and not for the first time Derek thinks it should be stranger, or that he should be angrier, at the very least he is aware he should have been able to ask _why_? _Why_ did Stiles go looking for him tonight? _Why_ did Stiles know where to find him? _Why_ is he in his bed now? And _why_ does it make these things feel right?  
  
Stiles rolls over to face him, as if he can hear the questions running through his mind as hard as he had run through the forest only hours ago. Derek’s vision is good in the dark, not perfect, but definitely better than Stiles’ would be. But he doesn’t need his wolf-enhanced vision to see Stiles rest his hand between them, letting Derek decide. And the decision comes easily for him. He slides his fingers between Stiles’ and he thinks that maybe that lightness, that freedom, that he had felt in the jeep hadn’t come because he had been running away, but because he had been running towards something so much better.  
  
“Derek?” Stiles’ voice sounds raw.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“It’s okay y’know, to give in sometimes. To that anger, or that grief, or whatever is chasing you out there. It’s just, it’s okay to feel those things. They don’t make you weak.” Stiles’ fingers tightened their grip on Derek’s hand.  
  
“When I get like that…” Derek struggled to sort out this thoughts, which ones he felt Stiles desperately needed to know first, “if I don’t rein in my instincts, they can make me dangerous.”  
  
Stiles offered him a wry smile. “Dangerous, like you might want to rip my throat out? With your teeth? Because we’ve been down that road before, and me and my throat are still here to remind you of that.”  
  
“Dangerous like I don’t know what me and my teeth are capable of if I give in. And now, more than ever, I can’t afford to lose control.”  
  
“Why now more than ever?” Stiles hesitantly asks.  
  
“Because now I have people in my life I care about again. Now I have too much to lose.” Derek thinks that should be harder to admit, but he knows that each time Stiles chose to confide in Derek through misspelled drunk texts, through afternoon calls from the library while he was supposed to be studying, that he too was confiding in Stiles. He was letting pieces of himself go, allowing himself to trust Stiles in more ways than just knowing that he’d take a wolfsbane bullet for him.  
  
“You giving in doesn’t mean you’ll lose any of that.” Stiles’ smile is obvious in the dark, like he still isn’t used to Derek admitting that he really does care about their pack of misfits. “We don’t need protecting from you. We’re here to help you through it, any of it, together.”  
  
Derek needs Stiles to understand, “You could get hurt.”  
  
Stiles scoffs, “Please, I get knocked around enough on our usual adventures. I can definitely handle another big bad wolf and all of his big bad baggage.”  
  
“You’re such an idiot,” he says with too much fondness for it to sting.  
  
Stiles considers him seriously, with the corners of his lips still pulled into a small smile. He takes a deep breath before rolling onto his back while gently tugging on Derek’s hand until he’s following it without thought, pushing the blankets out of the way, climbing over Stiles, and caging him in beneath him. Stiles uses his free hand to cover Derek’s eyes, hiding Stiles’ painfully open expression lingering on his face.  
  
Stiles ducks under his own hand to gently place a kiss to Derek’s cheek, and then the other, to the hinge of his jaw, finally pausing over his pulse point. Derek knows it’s beginning to speed up, wonders when he became so comfortable with letting Stiles know he is the cause of it. Stiles sucks gently on the thriving pulse, both knowing that any marks won’t really last. And with Stiles’ hand still covering his eyes, Derek’s thrown headlong into his other senses. He notes the deep satisfaction of having Stiles pressed safely underneath him that feels so right it aches in his chest, and Stiles’ smell becomes intoxicating and brutally honest in the way that words often fail to express - there’s a palpable blind faith being given to him, and there is the recently more familiar scent of lust with no sense of shame. Then Stiles’ lips are pressed so gently against his own, allowing Derek all of the time in the world to pull away, before shakily demanding, “Give in, Derek. Let go.” So he does.  
  
Derek presses their mouths together hard, feeling Stiles remove his hand from covering his eyes to instead card his fingers through his hair. Kissing Stiles is everything and nothing like he had allowed himself to imagine it would be. All of Stiles’ naturally pent up energy is exuded like Derek knew it would be, his kisses are fierce, his grip on Derek’s hand strong. But Derek had never been able to count on the pleased noises coming out of the back of Stiles’ throat, or the way he’d taste when Stiles eagerly sucked on Derek’s tongue. But he had known that whatever they’d be, they’d always be _good_.  
  
Derek let his instincts take over for the first time that night. He succumbed to their craving, with Stiles desperately urging him on to do so. Stiles’ free hand trailed down Derek’s side, holding on to Derek’s hip as he rolled his own up to meet him. Derek groaned into the kiss, breaking apart to nip at the very same throat he had once upon a time half-heartedly threatened. He scraped his teeth over the juncture between neck and shoulder, cursing Stiles’ shirt and his misplaced attempt at decency while inviting himself into Derek’s bed in the first place.  
  
Stiles laughs and starts pushing at his shoulder. “Okay, okay, sit up for a minute would ya?”  
  
Derek only complies so that he can help Stiles pull the shirt off faster, throwing it over his shoulder and hoping it lands within the vicinity of Stiles’ other clothes. Stiles’ hand wraps around Derek’s neck as he pulls him back down on top of him. They align themselves, pushing and pulling, slotting against each other to fit into the curves of their bodies. Derek kisses him again, once, twice, trying to swallow the moans that their grinding hips elicit from Stiles’ mouth. Derek’s interrupted when the hand currently entwined in his hair gives a sharp tug, enough so that Derek gently bites Stiles lip before holding himself up over Stiles. Their bare chests push against each other as they try to catch their breath, and Derek tries not to lose himself in the very loud and very fast beat Stiles’ heart is producing. He continues to absentmindedly grind his hips, not wanting to ever stop feeling this way.  
  
Stiles keeps hold of Derek’s hair as he tips his chin up to lick a slow stripe along Derek’s bottom lip. “How are you feeling now?” Stiles asks, hoping he sounds less breathless than he personally thought he did.  
  
Derek very pointedly looks down at their slow-rolling hips where both of their erections are strained against their thin clothing. Stiles laughs, winding his legs around Derek’s waist so there’s no space left between them, and kisses him again softly. Stiles brushed his hand down Derek’s face, silently asking Derek to close his eyes again, until his hand rested against his chest. Derek knew that Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat the same way, but he’d definitely be able to feel it racing against the warm palm of his hand. “I mean here. How are you feeling here?”  
  
“Mm, not as good as here feels,” he grinds down roughly, enjoying the gasp he hears. “But it’s getting there.”  
  
Stiles smacks his shoulder, cheekily grinning up at him. “Well then my work here is probably done. So if you’ll just let me up-”  
  
“God, how are you this mouthy even in bed?” Stiles’ laugh turns into another moan when Derek works his hand between their bodies, sliding beneath the waistband of his own pj’s on Stiles’ hips, only to discover nothing but skin as his hand wraps around Stiles as he begins to stroke languidly. “Stiles, are you wearing my pants without any boxers?”  
  
“Well, yes, it would appear so-” Stiles stutters out a response as Derek strokes faster, enjoying the noises it forces out of Stiles' mouth.  
  
“I almost want to be offended that you were so sure I’d be that easy.” Derek twists his hand on the upstroke, and begins sucking marks across Stiles’ protruding collar bone.  
  
“Ah, fuck,” Stiles unashamedly throws his head back, egging on Derek’s desire to claim. “You know you can’t really be mad at me, because dude, it is definitely your hand that is on my dick and is this far away from being covered in cum.”  
  
Derek let out a low growl before quickly sitting up, startling a complacent Stiles, only to harshly pull the plaid pj pants down and swallow Stiles into his mouth as far as he could. Stiles let out a low groan, and a string of some very specific curse words, before coming down Derek’s waiting throat.  
  
“Holy fucking shit, fuck.” Stiles’ flush face watched Derek in awe as he sat back on his heels.  
  
Derek slid his hand still covered in Stiles’ pre-come into his own boxers, “Do you mind if-”  
  
“Oh my god no, anything, anything you want.” Stiles reached for the waistband of Derek’s boxers, pulling them down around his thighs. “Okay, I’m ready to watch. After you.”  
  
Derek wants to laugh, and he maybe even wants to question why it’s this particular idiot that he wants so much, but above all he definitely wants to come. It doesn’t take long, not with Stiles watching him like that, encouraging him, desperately gripping the back of his thighs until he spills over the edge. Stiles pulls him back down on top of him, both ignoring the messes between them.  
  
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” Stiles speaks into the side of Derek’s head.  
  
Derek kisses Stiles’ neck where his face is tightly pressed into. “You’re okay too,” he softly mumbles.  
  
-  
  
It was almost noon before Derek woke up from a dream he couldn’t remember well enough to describe by the time he opened his eyes. There was enough noise and smells coming from the kitchen it was clear that Stiles had decided to cook something, and Derek just hoped there’d be enough for two. He threw on a pair of navy sweatpants before making his way downstairs to see what kind of mess Stiles had gotten his kitchen into this time.  
  
Surprisingly, the mess was mostly contained to Stiles’ hands and the mixing bowl, and Derek decided he could live with that. Stiles had hunted down Derek’s iPod dock from the living room and was shamelessly singing along to what appeared to be Elvis as the song winded down to the next one. Stiles didn’t seem to notice Derek’s presence as he carried on making what smelled very much like pancakes, in between singing into the wooden stirring spoon as an impromptu mic. Derek felt something settle in his stomach, something that felt suspiciously like _want_. He wanted this messy and off-key Stiles just as much as the panting and eager Stiles trapped underneath him in bed last night.  
  
Off a particular high note Stiles spun around to find Derek leaning against the counter, very clearly not having just gotten there. However, Stiles didn’t look the least bit embarrassed.  
  
“I found the chocolate chips in your cupboard from that afternoon Lydia had decided baking could be a new stress outlet. So you’re getting chocolate chip pancakes, and you’re going to like them.” He turned back around to flip a golden pancake.  
  
“I’m sure I will.” Derek noted that Stiles had managed to get some batter on what was clearly another stolen shirt of his. “Were you listening to Elvis when I came down here?”  
  
“Yes, and I refuse to apologize for it.” Stiles slid the finished pancake onto a waiting stack. He turned off the stove before turning to smile and cheesily wink at Derek. “Besides, you know you are the cutest jailbird I ever did see.” At that Stiles’ cheeks finally began to redden, and it instantly turned into one of Derek’s favourite Stiles faces he had encountered.  
  
“Mhm,” Derek closed the distance between them, placing a soft kiss to his forehead where there was some smeared batter. “Let’s rock?”  
  
Stiles laughed delightedly. “Dude, yes! I knew you weren’t going to pretend like you were too cool for Elvis.”  
  
“No, but I’m thinking that I’m definitely too cool for you.”  
  
“I bet you’d change your mind,” Stiles started to place open mouthed kisses along Derek’s jaw, “if I dropped to my knees and sucked you off right here.” Stiles’ hands toyed with Derek’s waistband.  
  
“I’d definitely reconsider it.” Derek bit back a fairly embarrassing noise as Stiles’ fingers slid into his boxer briefs.  
  
“Because then I’d be the coolest person you know?”  
  
“Yes, the coolest person I know.” Derek found he was having a hard time focusing as Stiles finally closed his fingers around him. “Which might not actually be saying much considering the company we keep-”  
  
Stiles kissed him, hard and with plenty of tongue, before just as quickly pulling away entirely to pick up cutlery and the plate of stacked pancakes. “That’s good to hear. Now come eat these before they get cold.” Stiles ignored Derek’s glare all too easily as he sat down at the bench.  
  
Derek did as he was told, trying not to adjust himself, and sat next to Stiles, taking the offered fork for their shared plate. “You know,” he said offhandedly around a mouthful of in fact delicious pancakes, “I’m thinking this might have had negative effects on your ego.”  
  
“Nah, my ego’s just fine. It likes being this size.”  
  
“I bet it does.”  
  
They ate in a comfortably pleasant silence, with a very self-satisfied smirk lingering on Stiles’ face. It wasn’t until Derek passed on his compliments to the chef and pushed their empty plate away did Stiles turn in his seat to face him.  
  
“I need you to know that last night was something I’ve wanted for a long time. I didn’t mean to, I mean, I didn’t want you to think that I just stuck around for easy pickings.”  
  
“Easy pickings? Seriously?”  
  
“You know what I mean,” Stiles’ knee nudged into Derek’s thigh. “You can just be a bit oblivious to these kinds of things, and so I thought I’d spell it out for you before you potentially became more broody than usual.”  
  
“I think you spelled it out pretty clearly last night actually.” Derek watched Stiles bite at his lip.  
  
“Good. Just so long as you know that any time you want to run off into the woods to angst, or howl at the moon as you wolves tend to do, I’ll be here waiting for you to help repair the cracks.”  
  
Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ neck, pulling his face into his chest. As he kissed the top of Stiles’ messy hair, he thought for the first time in a long time that he knew with all certainty this was an instinct it was okay to give into.

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely self-edited, sorry for any glaring mistakes. 
> 
> Was also inspired by listening to Not Giving In - Rudimental ft. John Newman & Alex Clare (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsw8-TF-VRI) which you should listen to, should you feel so inclined.


End file.
